


Thick as Thieves

by beltsquid



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltsquid/pseuds/beltsquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having found some success outside of treasure hunting, Nathan Drake is beginning to consider that settling down isn't so bad, after all.  But when Elena receives a tip for her latest story, they find that they can't stay out of trouble for long.  Unraveling the secret behind stolen Chinese artifacts will bring them to reconnect and conflict with old friends and new enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here Began All Our Troubles

_His second honeymoon wasn’t supposed to end up like this._

_Nathan Drake pulled himself atop a sturdy antique bookcase and clutched his thigh, desperate to apply pressure to recently-torn flesh. His fingers slipped, slick with his own blood, and he could feel the tatters of his jeans clinging the wound already. Considering what they’d been through this evening, he was up for one hell of an infection. But he would have to worry about that later—getting a nasty infection meant he’d have to live long enough for that to happen, first. It was crazy to think that of all the things in Australia that could kill him—spiders, snakes, jellyfish, crocodiles, sharks, stingrays, cassowaries, stinging trees--he never expected to be mauled by a goddamn tiger. He flicked his gaze from the beast up to Elena—wide-eyed, silent, pressed into the corner of the wall atop the bookshelf, but thankfully unharmed. The tiger reared up on its haunches and swiped at the bookcase, raking its claws through wood and knocking a Victorian vase to the floor. It shattered over the hardwood so loudly that it may as well have been heard in Cairns._

_“Bad kitty,” he said, and prayed that the guards hadn’t been alerted, too._

**Days Earlier...**

Sunset and a stunning view of the city made a perfect backdrop for a quiet anniversary dinner for two. Their steak was nice and bloody, the wine palatable, and Nate was grateful to be seated outside; the harbor breeze was just gentle enough to cool his recent sunburn. He must have looked ridiculous, bright red nose clashing with the suit he’d donned for the occasion, but otherwise he cleaned up well enough. Besides, it wasn’t often that Elena put on that tight little blue number of a dress that he couldn’t wait to get her out of later that night.

She stopped fiddling with her new camera’s menu settings and pointed it at him. He’d given it to her before dinner, and predictably she’d brought it along with her.

“Here we are on the far side of the world in Sydney, Australia, with up-and-coming author Nathan Drake, flush with the imminent success of his debut thriller, _No Honor Among Thieves_.” Nate rolled his eyes, but smiled. He’d ignored all advice as well as tradition in not getting her jewelry as an anniversary gift. A nice camera seemed like something she would appreciate more. And by the way she was grinning at him through the viewfinder, he could safely say that he was on the money. He could certainly afford it--his utterly fictional and not at all inspired by real events novel about an antiquities dealer who finds the lost treasure of El Dorado had been optioned as a film as part of his publisher’s close relationship to the studio. His book hadn’t even hit the shelves yet, but that was just how the publishing and film industries went these days--option film rights early while they’re cheap, reap bigger rewards or minimize potential losses on your potential blockbusters. He didn’t expect anything to come of it, honestly. His deal was just one of many that the studio made that year, and it would probably die a lingering death in development hell. But as Sully would point out, he got a hundred grand out of it, and that’s all that mattered.

“Congratulations on your upcoming book, Mr. Drake,” Elena continued. “And happy anniversary.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a small gift-wrapped box, and slid it across the table.

“Oh honey, is it those diamond earrings I’ve been waiting for?” He teased, making a show of shaking the box.

“Just shut up and open it!” She said, then added: “you know, we should’ve done this earlier. I could have filmed you earning that sunburn.” 

“Yeah, you would tape me falling ass over teakettle off that crappy foam surfboard.” The first day of their Australia adventure had been spent at the beach, with Elena goading him into giving surfing a shot. That ended badly for his ego, although the locals found his failures hilarious. But splashing around in the ocean and dropping down walls of water had scratched at a familiar itch of his—it had been far too long since either of them had done anything really exciting. Shortly after coming home from Yemen, he’d been approached to go looking for Zerzura, yet another mythological city in the middle of the desert. Tales claimed that terrible giants guarded the priceless treasures of the dove-white oasis. Knowing his luck, that would have proven to be all too true and then some. He turned the offer down, a prospect that at the time was perhaps a little scarier than bounding off into the desert again. 

Instead he spent much of the past year chartering flights on Sully’s plane for pocket money, writing, and shopping his manuscript out to publishers. As for Elena, she had backed down from covering a spate of violent uprisings in the Middle East, which did a lot for his peace of mind considering the number of journalists that died in the conflict. She turned to following up on human rights violations in China instead. It was a grand mutual experiment in not-dying, but fortunately their wanderlust couldn’t be suppressed by well-intentioned responsibility forever. Being flush with cash in time for their anniversary seemed like a sign, and so they hightailed it out of the country as fast as they could once he got the news about the film deal. Nothing was really planned and there was no real itinerary here, and that sat just fine with Nate.

He turned his present over and hooked a finger into the folds of the paper, tearing it open to reveal a black velveteen ring box. He flicked it open. Inside was a ring that he would have mistaken for silver if he weren’t so experienced at telling the difference in such things. The white gold was etched with a Latin inscription. 

“Elena, you didn’t,” he said, tugging it out of the box. She had even tied to a leather cord. She said nothing, but gave him a look and raised an eyebrow in anticipation of something. He inspected the ring closer, and found that it was not a true replica of Francis Drake’s ring; the Latin inscription didn’t translate to ‘greatness from small beginnings’ at all. As he turned the ring over in in his fingers, silently mouthing the words, he laughed. “ _I did not think that far ahead?_ ”

“I thought it was an appropriate motto for you,” she replied. “I've been holding onto it for months, and I had to stop myself from giving it to you earlier. You keep tugging the buttons off your shirts.”

It was hard for him to break a twenty-year habit of fiddling with Francis Drake’s ring whenever he got lost in thought. Unfortunately for the second button on his Henley shirts, they were in roughly the same spot where the ring used to be. They didn’t take too well to his absent-minded twisting.

“Since when do you know Latin,” he asked. With the way Elena took up languages and nosed through his books, it was a valid question.

“I don’t, but Charlie does.”

“Sneaky,” he said, slipping the leather cord over his head. “... Thanks. This is. This is perfect.”

Elena turned off the camcorder and snapped it shut, her expression warm. She parted her lips to speak, but was interrupted by the buzzing and chirping of her cell phone’s text notification going off. Nate groaned.

“I thought you were going to keep that thing turned off!”

“I thought it was off!” Elena pulled it from her handbag and looked at the screen. She immediately began to tap out a reply. Nate sighed. Everything had been going so well, and now he was up for a fight or she would spend the night getting wrapped up in work again. Or both. She glanced up at him.

“I know, I know. But someone is telling me that they have a hot tip on Jiang.” Jiang Peng was the subject of Elena’s latest crusade—the guy was a major player in the CCP’s Politburo, and responsible for placing political dissidents and scholars under house arrest or worse. 

“Can’t it wait?”

“What do you think I’m telling them right now?”

“That they should call your producer, because you’re on vacation and preoccupied with your incredibly handsome husband?”

“Something like that,” she teased, finishing the text. She held up the phone for him to see and turned it off. “There. Done.”

“Good,” Nate said, easing back in his chair. He reached for the bottle of wine and refreshed his glass, then hers. “Because I have a few ideas about how we can use that camera tonight.”

“You are so horrible,” Elena laughed and attacked her steak with a fork. Taking a year off from business as usual had worried him. And it had been tough, damn tough, to break his old habits. But after everything he’d put her through he owed her that much—to actually give it a try. She was happy. He was happy. Sure, they still had spats, but nobody had walked out on anybody this time. It was slow-going, this life, but considering the results, maybe going legit wasn’t so bad after all. 

***

He awoke the next morning to find that Elena was already up and pacing around the room in a pink camisole, her fingers darting over the keypad of her phone in rapid-fire. He slung an arm over the side of the bed and felt around for his discarded underwear. “Morning, sunshine,” he said as he snatched them up from the floor and slid them on.

“Hey there, cowboy,” she replied, not glancing up from the screen. “Are you feeling alright? You went through more than a couple of glasses of wine last night.”

“Well, it feels like there’s a desert in my mouth and I could use an aspirin, but other than that, not too bad. Did you pack aloe?” The sunburn was more of a bother than the mild hangover.

“Yeah, check my bag in the bathroom,” she said.

He plodded over to the bathroom, his eyes still bleary from sleep, and unzipped the black leather bag that Elena kept her cosmetics in. It didn’t take much digging to locate a bottle filled with blessed green goo. The blue stuff with lidocaine would have been better, but something was better than nothing. He slathered it over his nose and walked back over to the bed.

“So, what would you think of going to the museum today,” Elena asked, putting away her phone and sitting next to him at the foot of the bed.

He shrugged. “I guess we could do that. Why?”

“Since we’re here, I want to get a leg up on my Australian history?” Neither her tone nor her choice of words were at all convincing. And she called him a bad liar.

“Okay, you weren’t even trying with that one. What are you up to? And don’t say ‘nothing.’”

Elena made a face and took a breath before speaking. “He’s coming here. To Australia. There’s a collection of artifacts on loan from China that will be made open to the public in a couple of days, and he’ll be there for the reveal—something to do with him facilitating the loan. According to my source, there’s something else going on, and I should meet them at the museum to find out more.”

By ‘he’ Nate assumed she meant Jiang. “Couldn’t you just try and get in on the press event?”

“I could,” she shrugged. “But all I’d get out of that are some non-answers. The museum wants reporters to put in a nice story for the local papers or evening news to get more bodies through the door; what they really don’t want is someone asking questions about forced labor camps. I don’t want to just be part of the PR hype, especially if there’s something else going on here.”

“What makes you trust this source anyway,” Nate asked. A lead based on anonymous text messages? Yeah, like that couldn’t be sketchy as hell.

“It could be nothing,” Elena agreed. “But I’d like to check it out anyway. Who knows when I’ll get another lead like this? Besides, even if it’s bogus, the museum would still be interesting, right?” She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees, and damned if it wasn’t cute.

Nate shrugged. He wasn’t crazy about the prospect of Elena burying herself in work while on this trip, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay away from intrigue at a museum. “What the hell? I could use the shade, anyway.”

“Great!” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’m going to need your help smuggling a camera in. There’s a no camera policy.”

“I see how it is, you’re just using me for my disreputable skills.” He hugged her waist and rested his forehead against hers.

“There’s a reason I married a thief,” she said.

“Just one reason?”

“If I think of any others I’ll let you know.” She winked and stood up. “C’mon, we gotta get ready!”

Nate shook his head. Elena was still very much the same plucky girl he’d fallen for five years ago. And as much as he loved it, that probably meant that she was headed straight for trouble.


	2. Don't Look Up

Nate checked his watch again and glanced over at the entranceway. Two hours had passed and there was still no sign of Elena’s informant. He’d already done a quick tour of what the museum had to offer, but most of the exhibits focused on natural history and failed to pique his interest in more than a cursory way. 

“I think you’ve been stood up.”

Elena sighed. “Give it a few more minutes, and then we’ll leave.”

Nate refocused his attention on what had been occupying him for the last hour--the door across the room which led to the space reserved for special collections. Above it was yet another copy of the large banner that read “ANCIENT CHINA: 8,000 YEARS OF HISTORY” that was hanging from every streetlight on the road. A close-up photograph of a dragon faced the text; Nate figured that it was likely the gem of the collection. A particularly busy staff member had been darting in and out of the room since they started waiting. Final set up for the opening would probably take place tonight after closing. Obviously, the key to the whole story was the collection, otherwise why bother to arrange a meeting at the museum? If the anonymous texter wasn’t going to show, her answers would be behind that door. And if anyone could figure it out, it was Nathan Drake. The worst they could do is throw him out, right? He didn’t even plan on taking anything.

The door creaked open, and an employee slipped out, making a beeline for the restroom. It was as good an opportunity as any. He tucked Elena’s camera under his arm, and stood up.

“Gonna take a leak. Meet you outside?”

Elena checked her watch. “Sure, I—wait, what are you doing?”

“Getting your story. I still owe you one, remember?” He winked and sauntered away from her stammered protests. Ducking into the display room, taking a quick look, and getting out wouldn’t take him more than five minutes. 

Simply acting like he belonged somewhere got Nate into a lot of places over the years, and today was no different. Nobody even turned their head when he twisted the door handle, swung it open, and crossed the threshold. As soon as he did so, a tingle ran up his spine and greeted him like an old friend: that exciting feeling that he was up to no good, that he could be in trouble at any moment. Nate turned on the camera and made quick work of surveying the room. As he suspected, the new exhibit was only partially in place; only the heaviest of the pieces were on the floor. It wasn’t much to go on—a clay statue, an ornate jar, and what looked to be the tattered remains of a ship that was affixed to the far wall. The rest of the room was a colorless mess of empty pedestals, pedestals, and ladders. 

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he muttered, crossing the room to the statue. “Terracotta warrior. There are what, 8,000 of these? I guess they could spare one.” He’d seen plenty before, but one thing you cannot say about them is “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” Each figure was made to represent a unique person and varied in everything from height to facial characteristics. They were burial figures meant to serve the Emperor in the afterlife so that he would have servants even in death. Nate pictured Sully being buried with an army of cigars. A thousand years later, an explorer would open his tomb and be overcome with the rolling stench of cigar smoke. But there wasn’t enough time to give the clay guy a good look. He moved onto the jar.

“Hand-painted ceramic.” Zooming in brought out more of the details of the dragons and phoenixes that decorated the piece, once he got the camera to focus. “ I’ve seen something like this before in Beijing. I’m thinking...Han dynasty?” He turned off the camera and leaned in closer to look with his own eyes and realized that it was uncannily like a piece he’d seen at the Palace Museum.

The door swung open again. Nate ducked behind the best cover he could find and prayed that he wouldn’t have to try the “got lost on the way to the bathroom” excuse. A single pair of footsteps echoed through the room and came to a stop in the middle of the floor.

He really should have thought this through.

The room’s other occupant moved no further, and after a few moments, Nate heard the distinctive clink of a lighter being struck, followed by the scent of cigarette smoke. Not exactly the best place for a smoke break--Nate clearly wasn’t the only one up to mischief here. He dared to peer around the edge of the display pedestal he was crouched behind and get a look at the unexpected company. The smoker was a short-statured man in a crisp black suit and a red tie. He wore a wireless earpiece. He paid no attention to the artifacts in the room, only staring ahead at the door that he came through, waiting for someone to come through. Nate knew the type; he had to be some kind of gangster. Maybe Triad. They tended to be a little classier like that.

Nate pulled himself out of sight again and waited. The silence was palpably tense and he became acutely aware of the sound of his own breath. 

“Sir! You can’t be in here! Or smoking!”

Suppressing the urge to stand up and run was difficult, but Nate kept still nonetheless. It wasn’t directed at him, after all.

“I’m security detail for a VIP,” the man in black replied in a thick accent. A fresh wave of cigarette smoke washed over Nate. “I have a message for Munroe.”

“I don’t work with the curator,” the employee stammered. “You’ll have to call and make an appointment. Now I must ask you to put out that cigarette and leave, or—”

“This is important,” said the man in black. “It is sensitive information. Phones are not secure. Get Munroe.”

The employee made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “I can show you to her office. Maybe her secretary knows where she is.”

“Very well.”

Both sets of footsteps retreated from the room. Nate counted to ten and let loose a sigh of relief. He got to his feet and left the room as casually as he entered it. His exit did not go unnoticed, however. As soon as he crossed into the hall, a hand gripped his shoulder so firmly that Nate was convinced he’d develop a bruise.

“You were not supposed to be in there,” said the man in black.

“...Got lost on the way to the bathroom?” Nate replied lamely. The man then threw him to the floor with well-practiced, efficient grace. Nate groaned. He was not up for this kung-fu shit today.

“No cameras,” he said, grabbing the camcorder from Nate.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so.”

Elena kicked the goon’s hand, knocking the camcorder free. Nate caught it and rolled to his feet. Museum goers began to take notice of the scuffle, their heads turning toward them. Security would be mobilizing about now, too. They had precious little time to get the hell out of this place. He made a run for the exit, checking over his shoulder for Elena. Behind them, the man in black was barking orders into his earpiece in what Nate could only assume was Chinese. They bolted past dumbstruck museum attendees, through the exit doors, and into the late afternoon sun. 

“This way,” Nate waved his hand in the direction of an alley between the museum and a neighboring school. He had no idea where to go from there, but they would be out of sight quicker than if they followed the busy street. They alley was barred off by a black iron gate that he boosted Elena over. She kicked open the latch from the other side, and he wriggled through the parted gate. They jogged down the alley, hugging the wall to where the shape of the building dipped out of sight from the street. Nate took Elena by the arm and tugged her into the corner.

“Wait, I got an idea,” he said, glancing at the museum wall. The old brickwork was broken up with mantelpieces and moulding that would make for excellent handholds.

“Why do all your plans involve climbing?” She whispered. 

“Nobody looks up,” he said. It was something he’d learned for himself long before he’d ever met Sully. He’d spent many hours in the St. Francis Boy’s home finding creative ways to evade the nuns. One night he crawled on top of a bookshelf and watched them dart through the room looking for him, but never glancing up to see him in plain sight. It reminded him of the way ants ran in crazy circles after kicking over their ant hill. He was only discovered when he could no longer contain his laughter. Sister Anne had not been pleased, and until the day he finally slipped away from that place, she was the only one who ever bothered to look up for him.

Elena looked at the wall, her mouth twisted in a frown that belied her reluctance to climb it. 

“I’ll boost you up,” he assured her. “C’mon, we don’t have time.”

He backed against the wall and held out his hands for her. She pressed a foot onto them and he hoisted her up toward the wall as he’d done dozens of times before. Once he was sure she had a good hold, he strapped the camera to his belt and followed her up the wall. He was roughly halfway up, she three-quarters, when the sound of the gate being drawn open again rang out over the din of passing traffic. It was followed by the clatter of patent-leather shoes over asphalt. Nate checked over his shoulder and counted three more men in sharp black suits and wireless earpieces running down the alley. He doubled his efforts to scale the wall and mantled onto the roof, rolling onto his side and next to Elena. Bits of white-hot gravel roofing bit into his skin like so many stone teeth and he bit his lip to keep himself from crying out.

“Great, now what?” She asked, her voice in a low but harsh whisper.

“We wait for them to leave, then we pop back down and go on our way.”

“It’s never that easy.”

“A man can hope,” he said and reached for his gun, which was not there. It was locked in a drawer in his apartment over 9,000 miles away. He sighed and focused on listening to what was happening below. Two of the men were directly below them, standing in the corner where they had been hiding, occasionally muttering into their earpieces. Out in the street, a motorcycle roared to life. What he wouldn’t give to have one of those right now, or any way for a quick getaway, really. His thoughts drifted to the image of Sully swooping in low with his plane, ladder dangling free for them to catch hold of. But last time he checked in with Sully, the man was in Singapore. And he wouldn’t pull a stunt like that in an urban setting, anyway.

They laid there in silence, with Nate mentally weighing the likelihood that security would come to the roof before nightfall versus his chances against their buddies in the alley. If he got the drop on them, he’d do alright, but the idea that all these jackasses had blackbelts in something put him off. 

“Huh, that’s interesting,” Elena said. “That motorcycle just passed us again.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching. Red Suzuki. The rider’s wearing a black helmet, and a red leather jacket. Maybe he’s involved?”

“Not the same dress code, though,” Nate said and took another glance at the alley. The agents still hadn’t moved.

Elena’s jeans buzzed.

“Really? You still have it on?!” Nate asked, incredulous that her cell phone dared to go off during a chase. To her credit, though, it was set to silent.

Elena shot him a look and took the phone from her pocket. “Message from my contact,” she said. “It’s an address. Looks like two blocks east from here.” Below them, the agents in the alley chatted into their earpieces again, left the post, and headed toward the main road. Another message buzzed onto Elena’s phone: “GO. NOW.”

They dropped over the roof’s edge, descending in well-timed drops rather than a climb. Nate hit the asphalt hard and ran. His feet carried him down the alley and across the back parking lot. Elena was not far behind, her eyes on her phone.

“Cross the street!”

They bolted across the lazy back avenue which was thankfully nearly empty of traffic save for a line of parked cars that dotted both sides of the street. Another narrow, darkened alley would lead them past a hotel and onto the next street. He raced toward the shadows, his lungs stinging from lack of practice at this kind of exertion. The alley was dark and cool; a welcome change from the afternoon sun.

“Don’t slow down,” Elena said, catching up to him and placing a hand at the small of his back. “We’re almost there.”

“I just hope you can trust this guy,” Nate huffed.

“Me too,” Elena said.

The end of the alley narrowed where the floor plans of the neighboring buildings deviated, and in that space stood yet another agent. He had a pistol drawn.

“Aw crap.” Nate came to a dead stop and lifted his arms in surrender. Elena followed suit, cursing under her breath as well. The agent raised his gun but otherwise did not acknowledge them, choosing to speak into his earpiece instead.

“He’s asking if we’re needed alive,” said Elena.

“You speak Chinese?”

“Only a little. I’m taking an online course,” she explained.

“Since when?”

“For the last six months. I started while you were finishing your novel draft.” Nate nodded. Made sense for her to take up something productive while he stayed up long nights staring into the unforgiving blank screen of a computer.

The agent waggled his pistol. “Quiet.”

Nate rolled his eyes. He could hear the buzz of a motorcycle coming up the road. Hopefully, their newfound friend would swoop in for a rescue, or at least a distraction.

“Are we going to be interrogated or what?” He asked, careful to sound irritated rather than panicked.

“That will not be necessary,” the agent replied and aimed his gun. The sound of the motorcycle grew louder still, and the man turned his attention away from them, aiming his pistol up the street. It was too little too late, however, and the driver plowed the front wheel of the bike into the man, knocking him back several feet. His pistol flew out of his hand and Nate raced to grab it before he could try to get back on his feet. 

“Looks like I saved your ass again,” said the driver, whom Nate was now realizing was a woman. As she removed her helmet, a dark ponytail fell in a messy, wind-torn tangle at the nape of her neck.

“Chloe? _You’re_ my informant?” Elena managed to ask before he could. Nate couldn’t tell if she was incredulous or angry. Probably both.

“Surprise! I’ll explain later but we need to keep moving. His friends will be here soon.” She jerked a thumb at the agent who was struggling to stand again. He must have broken a rib.

“Sorry,” Nate said to him, checking the safety on the pistol and then securing it in his belt. “But it looks like my ride’s here.”


End file.
